


Artist's Study

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist!Steve, Body Appreciation, Brief References to Bullying, Brooklyn, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve likes to watch Bucky sleeps, and thinks about how he would draw him. Set pre-CA1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artist's Study

Steve sat in the creaky wooden chair, staring at Bucky while he slept. It was just the two of them, in their tiny Brooklyn apartment.

Everything about Bucky’s body seemed gentle, soft.

It was strange to think of him like this; Steve knew his hard edges, knew he was good in a fight. And Bucky’s body was large, sprawled out on the tiny bed, limbs in all their excess length hanging over the frame; he towered over Steve when he stood.

Steve sometimes thought that if it weren’t for Bucky, he would be terrified of other men. Especially ones like Bucky, enormous, strong. Between his father and the neighborhood guys, Steve knew that strong men (men who believed they were strong) hated anyone they saw as weak. They saw someone small and tried to make them feel smaller. There was something monstrous about most men, the way they glared at Steve when he dared to act like their equal, the way they hated Steve for calling them what they were.

Bucky wasn’t like anyone Steve had ever met, though.

He stirred on the bed, stretching his legs as his feet hung off the end. Steve leaned forward to look at him more closely.

He wanted to draw Bucky.

He had asked many times, but Bucky always said no. Embarrassed, Steve guessed. And it wouldn’t do to draw him without permission. But there was no harm in imagining how he would do it, in thinking of what lines and curves he would try to convey.

Steve thought that he would start with an outline of the body, a long arc, arms and legs spread out. Musculature well defined: Bucky wore only his shorts to sleep. Steve would draw the arm muscles, long and stretched, bicep a perfect curve, with soft fine hairs on his lower arms. Chest like a statue, stomach too, never too thin even when they barely had enough to eat.

Steve loved Bucky’s legs, long, solid, not like those men with large upper bodies and skinny legs. Steve could stare at his thighs all day, the round strength of them. He would make sure to get the wrinkled skin of the knees – too many artists ignored knees – and then calves would be reminiscent of Renaissance statues of athletic youths. Feet, large, hairy: Bucky joked that he had old man feet, but Steve thought they were adorable. And Bucky’s hands – hands were important for an artist to get exactly right. Despite all Bucky’s work at the docks, Bucky’s hands were soft, elegant looking even. Bucky wouldn’t like to hear them described that way, but Steve loved to look at Bucky’s hands.

The curve of his neck. Stretched as Bucky clung to his pillow, begging for Steve to press his lips onto it.

Bucky’s hair, loose, disheveled, so different from the slicked down perfect coif Bucky went out with. Dark, soft tufts of hair, sticking up in all directions. Steve always wanted to run his fingers through Bucky’s messy hair.

Steve would spend a long time drawing Bucky’s eyelashes. It would be hard to get them right, to make them as full as they were without it looking like he were wearing makeup. The line of the jaw, perfectly formed, dotted with light stubble, an earthy texturing that would make the drawing look human, alive, in the moment. His nose, his cheeks, his forehead, all in gorgeous proportion.

Bucky’s lips. Steve had spent many nights dreaming of the lushness of Bucky’s lips. He would draw them just like Bucky looked right now, lips slightly parted in sleep, full and plump and thick.

The only thing that would be missing is the way Bucky looked when his eyes were open. That would be the drawback to drawing Bucky asleep. But then Steve figured that even if he went to art school for a thousand years, he wouldn’t be able to put onto paper the way it felt when Bucky looked at him with those eyes.

Bucky’s eyelashes fluttered open then, as if he could hear Steve’s thoughts.

“You’re staring, Steve,” he mumbled.

“Sorry.”

Bucky gave him a look, teasing and sharp and kind all in one. “What I mean is, ‘Look but don’t touch’ is a real stupid philosophy.” He grinned at Steve, and Steve smiled back.

Steve went over to the bed and leaned down, kissed Bucky hard and rough. Bucky’s hand slid, warm, from Steve’s hip to his ribs.

“Are you sure I can’t ever draw you someday?” Steve said, looking down adoringly.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t draw me, Steve. But I’ll tell you what. You can do anything else to me.” He smirked, and added with a wink, “Anything in the world you can think of, Steve. Feel free to do it to me.”

Steve smiled and ran his thumb across Bucky’s lips. “Well, then I guess I can’t complain.”


End file.
